


their tender hearts beat loudly, now

by vaudelin



Series: supernatural codas [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s14e18 Absence, Grief/Mourning, Grieving Dean Winchester, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 02:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18436919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaudelin/pseuds/vaudelin
Summary: “Hey.” He thumps his knuckles into Cas’ chest. “Just because you’re dead to me doesn’t mean you get to die for good.”





	their tender hearts beat loudly, now

**Author's Note:**

> also on [tumblr](https://vaudelin.tumblr.com/post/184125557498/their-tender-hearts-beat-loudly-now).

They pack up the car and head home, after the pyre's burned down to a smolder. Sam sits rigid in shotgun, while Cas climbs into the backseat with his tail tucked between his legs. Dean avoids his eye in the rear-view mirror, forcing his attention ahead.

Dean’s whole body drags through the labor of walking through the war room, down halls that once bustled with the noise of too many lives crowded into his personal space.

Now the dorms are empty, the halls quiet.

Seems like they’re down to two Winchesters, once again.

Sam must sense the loss as well, probably more so than Dean. His shoulders stay tight throughout the drive home, his mouth and brow drawn onto his face in blunt, downward lines. He splits as soon as they hit the stairs, pulling a one-eighty before he even touches down in the war room. Dean spares hardly a thought before passing him the Impala’s keys. They don’t need to babysit each other, despite how badly they need the proximity of family on today of all days.

Dean lets Sam go, though it leaves him alone with Cas.

Despite the lingering look Cas gives at a distance down the hall, Dean goes to bed alone. He thumps to a halt at the foot of his bed, drags his hands over his face. Grimaces. The grit of the day has ground into his palms, built up beneath his blackened nails. He should change his clothes, wash his face at minimum, but this is the same Dean who woke up this morning with a living, breathing mother; he’s not about ready to relinquish that skin just yet.

A breath shudders through him, collapsing his sternum. What a day to see to its end. Near-calls with Rowena and Donatello, Sammy and then… Death’s been playing whack-a-mole with them again, going after anybody Dean ever cared about. Nothing’s changed about that really, except now… Now—

The wear and tear that’s gathered sinks into Dean, sets his hands to shaking. He doesn’t want to slow down, doesn’t want to reach this wall, but the loss of adrenaline hits him like a roundhouse, knocking him back onto the bed.

He doesn’t want to sleep, and especially not alone, but God hasn’t given him much of a choice tonight—Cas is here, but he isn’t, not really. Not in the way that Dean’ll need him to be.

With the last of his strength, Dean throws back the covers and clambers inside them.

He crawls into bed with the smell of woodsmoke still in his hair.

* * *

In the morning, when Sam still isn’t with them, Dean goes about the mechanics of making breakfast for one. He hovers over the frying pan, gets through eating a limp plate of eggs and bacon. Dean’s just about ready for cleanup when he spots the dishes left out after game night, the stale stovetop popcorn and the bowl of dried-out carrot sticks they’d cleaned into the sink in their haste.

The sight of it curdles something heavy in Dean’s stomach, sets the pit of him on ice.

He leaves the dishes, grabs the coffee pot and disappears to his room with it, not risking a return visit to the kitchen anytime soon.

* * *

Another night.

Dean sleeps three hours, then hauls himself into the shower when his dreams of scorched earth catch the scent of burning pine. Just another fire that took his mother. He hangs his head beneath a stream of hot water, feels as empty as the drain.

He fires off a text to Sammy, waits the length it takes to get an answer back. To know he’s safe.

It’s too early for morning, but Dean won’t go back to bed.

* * *

He finds Cas in the library, folded uncomfortably into one of its chairs, Sam’s laptop sitting open on the table in front of him. Dean can see his face as he approaches, see the way Cas has his eyes closed, his elbows perched on the arm rests. His hands are crossed over his waist.

As Dean gets closer, he can tell Cas isn’t breathing. Must be doing the bored-but-meditating wait he does sometimes instead of imitating sleep, the kind that scares the shit out of Dean whenever he reaches for Cas in the dark.

It scares Dean now, though he knows better. His heart pounds as he comes up beside Cas. “Hey.” He thumps his knuckles into Cas’ chest. “Just because you’re dead to me doesn’t mean you get to die for good.”

Cas cracks a smile at that, just this limp twist of a wet dishrag, but the sight’s enough to wring some warmth into Dean. There are fresh hollows beneath Cas’ eyes, bruises that speak of emotions that shouldn’t have been capable of carving their way through an angel, except they have, and they did.

“Dean,” Cas says. He makes it sound like a prayer.

Dean gnaws his cheeks. He hates that he’s still mad at Cas. Hates that he can’t just switch his anger off. But even more than that, he hates that Mary’s dead. “Any news?”

Cas sighs. The chair creaks as he leans in, waking the hibernating laptop. “Some false leads on the radar, but nothing that looks like Jack.”

Dean hums, noncommittal. Cas isn’t dead and Jack’s still AWOL, so nothing’s keeping Dean here. He pushes off from the table, but Cas touches at his wrist before he can get away.

“Dean,” Cas says again. There’s something in his tone that sets cold dread down Dean’s spine.

Dean settles back, despite the chill filling him with the need to flee.

Cas’ gaze drifts offside, averted cautiously away. He hesitates more than Dean can stand. “With the intention of honesty, there’s something else I should have told you,” Cas says. “About Jack’s resurrection.”

And that… Dean’s had about enough of the bullshit Cas has coddled him from, the endless cycle of them never getting off easy. “Jesus, Cas, why d’you always—” He shuts up, scrubs hard at his face. His mouth turns flinty and thin. “What’s the fine print this time.”

Cas at least has the decency to pale at that. “It was a trade, technically. Though I can reassure you, the conditions of my deal are now next to impossible to fulfill.”

“Deal?” Dean hangs in limbo on that, his heart suspended mid-air. “You made a deal? I thought Lily’s magic would—”

“It did—it does. But, Dean—at the time, the Empty claimed dominion over Jack’s soul. In order to revive him, I needed to—” Cas sighs, at a loss for how to continue.

For a moment Dean can’t say anything, can’t believe the verbal knife that Cas has nudged up between Dean’s ribs. Then the fear bows way to wrath, and suddenly Dean has too much he might say.

His jaw locked, his hands trembling, Dean grits out a cold fact he scarcely wants to think. “You traded yourself for him.”

Cas glances up, catching Dean with a mournful look, and it’s true, it’s happening—Cas gave himself up for the kid, and now Dean’s lost him too—

“Dean.” Cas clasp his hands around Dean’s, using both to quell his shaking. Dean unfurls his fingers without thinking too deeply about it, just making space for Cas to weave his way in.

Too many things are begging to be spoken. Dean’s left too much between them unsaid. He swallows hard, bullying his voice back to steady. “How long?”

Cas crooks a smile at that, catching Dean unaware. Dean readies his indignation, halfway through building a shout, when Cas rises from his chair and crowds up next to him, his faint grin blinding so up close.

“Not until I’m happy,” Cas tells him, and Dean can see it now, the absence of mirth to Cas’ would-be expression, the way all the lines of Cas’ face seem to draw down like tears. “The Empty won’t take me until I’m at my happiest.” Quietly, he adds, “And we’re a long way from that.”

That breaks Dean in a way he never expected. He tightens his fingers, locking his grip around Cas, fighting for the even keel he lost sometime days ago, around the time Cas turned subservient to the anger Dean threw his way. “You aren’t happy?” Dean asks, and immediately he could hit himself for his stupidity. Of course Cas isn’t happy; how could he be with everything that’s happened.

Cas doesn’t comment, merely waits out the shakes that course through Dean. In spite of his recent role as Dean’s punching bag, he’s still trying to help Dean through it. Never really stopped trying, even with the obstacles Dean tosses his way.

“Sorry we make each other miserable,” Dean forces out through the warble in his voice.

Cas’ smile turns into something soft and warm, reassuring in ways Dean will never deserve. “Now, I never said that.”

Dean scoffs, a laugh he hardly feels. He thinks abruptly of Mary, and the sorrow comes crashing in again. “She’s gone, Cas.”

“I know,” Cas says softly. His hand squeezes. “But she’s happy. We can try to find some solace in that.”

Dean could try, but that sounds too close to acceptance, and he’s nowhere near succumbing to that.

Cas’ grip tightens again, reassuring. “We’ll figure things out.”

“Yeah.” Dean bows his head. “Yeah, I know.”

In spite of himself, Dean doesn’t want to let him go.


End file.
